


i didn't think i would come back, but here i am, and i miss you

by thasmins



Category: Class (TV 2016), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Character of Color, Mild Blood, Post Series 1 (Class), Pre Series 11 Release (DW), drug usage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thasmins/pseuds/thasmins
Summary: Four years ago, Yasmin Khan ran away from an abusive home. Four years ago, Tanya Adeola lost her father.





	i didn't think i would come back, but here i am, and i miss you

**Author's Note:**

> ANGST!!!!!!!!! It was totally a good idea to write this fic the day before I take a test I'll 100% fail at lmao. Seriously, Tanya doesn't get much love at all (I mean Class doesn't even get much attention at all, who am I kidding), and I've been speculating about Yasmin's character for like the entire year, so I couldn't help myself.
> 
> Imogen, aka tunglr user ginnystan, inspired me to do this, so this is for you, queen.
> 
> Anyways, I love my two lesbian babies and they both get on my uwus so much :')

“No. You’re joking. This isn’t a funny joke.”

She wishes she were joking. She wishes she hadn’t even told her. Already, the guilt is clamoring at her. She wishes nothing — no, she can’t wish anymore. Instead, she just puts on a discomforting grimace.

“Yas, no, you can’t — ”

“It’s hard enough I have to leave here!” she bursts, and then she quickly shuts up. Her conscience is violently shaking at her now.

_To leave you now, in pain, fresh from death…_

She couldn’t choke those words out.

“Yas, please,” Tanya cries once more.

_If I turn my back on you, I wouldn’t have to speak to you. Then, you would hate me for the rest of our lives._

_If I could even speak to you now, it’ll be harder for me to leave. But I have to._

“I can come with you!”

Tanya says it with so much confidence. Too much confidence. Like the future would be bright and happy when they’re close to each other. Protecting each other.

But Yasmin knows too much. Knows too much of this cruel world, and what it can do to a teenager barely grappling on their existence. Knows too much about her own self, and how she isn’t as okay as she seems to be. How okay she wants to be. Her conscience will make out a number of completely valid reasons why Tanya Shouldn’t Come, and that’s not even the most painful part of it all.

She has Tanya close to her now, and she’s coiled her into an embrace before she knows it.

“You have to stay,” she simply says.

Tanya grips on her, refusing to stay away. “I know you’re leaving now.”

 

* * *

 

It stings and burns like salt on the wound.

When she eventually has to rip Tanya away from her, when she has to hear Tanya scream and explode in a multitude of emotions, she takes flight — sprints off the hallways, past teachers who couldn’t react as fast as they notice, and straight out of the school.

She doesn’t think about when she’ll see Tanya again. She thinks she’ll _never_ see Tanya again.

All she thinks about now is to run, run, _run_.

 

* * *

 

And she’s still running.

Four years later, and she’s running away from aliens. _Aliens_. Extraterrestrials not from Earth. Foreigners who originate from other planets, light years away. Those aliens.

She zips past through the forestry with minimal effort. Four years, she keeps running. It’s all she knows what to do.

Eventually, she’ll reach the blue box, the Doctor would slam the doors shut, Graham nudges her for being too reckless again, Ryan knocked out of breath to even make a comment, and the TARDIS would make her wheezing sounds before leaving this time period.

Four years later, is her life now.

 

* * *

 

“So, you’ve been living in this flat for two years now? By yourself? At age 17? In 2016?”

She nods at all of the questions (well, she lived with a flatmate for one year, and they had a falling out due to his cocaine addiction, but he’s doing fine now in rehab).

“No. You should be having fun, like being a human teenager from the UK in the 21st century,” the Doctor rambles, “doing freshers, smuggling cannabis, crying about what food you should be eating, getting a partner. Not being a PC and being a functional adult!”

“Well, just so you know, Doctor,” Yasmin starts, tying her hair up, “you’re chelpin’ at me like some middle-aged white man with his head stuffed in his arse, and maybe it’s because you ran away for thousands of years as one.” Then, she shakes her head. “No. I’m being moody. You’re champion.”

“I was about to say — ”

“Flippin heck,” she says, “seen a chap with a bloody knife in his hands. I’ve gotta get this.”

“Wait, Yas, fuck — !”

There she goes — running again. It’s become second nature at this point. Yasmin Khan, always the runner. She’s only been a PC for three months, and she knows she’s not even in the right jurisdiction, but she’s got quite a lucky few catches to make a name for herself in Sheffield.

Speaking of, she gets another catch as she tackles the knife-holding man down before he could make a turn to disappear in the alleyways. She twists his left wrist in the process of handcuffing the man, kicking away the knife out of reach.

“You twat, you’ll get yourself killed before you could reach for that knife,” she spat at him.

“Get off me, you dyke.”

Yasmin twists his right wrist, snickering at his disgruntlement.

“Lug on my strings with that manky arse of a mouth you have, I don’t mind breaking a few bones,” she threatens. “I don’t mind the suspension; I thrive on white men’s pain.”

He laughs before suddenly losing conscious. She tugs him upward, grimacing as she swings his arms around her to drag him into the police car. The Doctor is still in shotgun, dropping the donut she’s munching on.

“Hell fire!” She quickly gets off the car.

“I hate white people,” Yasmin grumbles.

“Can’t blame you.”

They push the unconscious man into the backseat. The Doctor slams the door shut as Yasmin recovers the sharp weapon in the man’s possession. It’s a standard kitchen knife but with traces of dried blood iced on the blade’s sharp, rigged edge.

“Something’s wrong,” the PC says, looking at the Time Lord with a worried look, “I don’t hear sirens.”

“No one’s called for an ambulance,” the Doctor continues, connecting the dots. “We’ve got to help.”

 

* * *

 

Tanya bursts out crying as she grips Matteusz’s hand hard and watches as Charlie pressed on the gash on his abdomen.

There’s just blood everywhere. A stream drying out from a cut on Charlie’s forehead, remnants tipped on shards from assortment of pottery, the smashed coffee table with a pool of the liquid from Matteusz’s father — the heathen behind all of this, and then Matteusz himself. Just everywhere on his body. It’s just red, red, red, red…

And four years later, after her father’s death, after Miss Oswald’s death, after her mother’s death, she’s still crying.

Out of the blue, she makes out a cry for help towards the person she could never forget.

_Yasmin, please come back._

 

* * *

 

 

> **Four Years Ago**
> 
> Tanya Adeola came home from that day with puffy eyes and dried tears running along her cheeks. She pushed past her mother, not bothering to even make out a murmur. The distorted, melancholic features of her face tells it all.
> 
> She held an envelope of importance — she was basically gripping on it so tightly as if the world would end if she were to even drop it. In a way, this envelope did mean the whole world to her. The person who wrote it had just ran away from her life forever.
> 
> Yasmin Khan was the one person in her life she could never be angry with. She still couldn't do it now.
> 
> Whatever's in this letter must be hell of a lot if she couldn't even say it to her face.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Yasmin Khan was free.
> 
> Finally, she didn't have to constantly check her back to see if she could live the day without a bruise. Finally, the fears that pumped inside her veins would never control her life again. Finally, she wouldn't have to see their twisted, monstrous faces again. Finally, she could  _breathe_.
> 
> But her sadness remained; she sacrificed her life in order to live.  _Tanya_.
> 
> They'd both live on, she knew that. In time, they'd both live new lives without each other. New friends and such. 
> 
> She hoped that Tanya would forget about her, but she wouldn't forget about Tanya.
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

"You shouldn't have done that."

Yasmin blinks.

"What?" she says, completely puzzled.

The Doctor points at her car. "The dude."

"Oh, that asshole?" Yasmin scoffs. "He deserved it. I got enough shite from being a lesbian by my fucking excuse of parents already."

They have an intent to ask something, but they choose to remain silent. Best not ask the wrong questions at this time around.

An awkward silence suffocates the words between them. Things that could be said, and maybe shouldn't be said. Their mouths are zipped close of language — just the total loudness of their breaths and the breeze remain.

Now, they're both following a cobblestone path, and that's just being followed by Yasmin's best instincts. There's no skill involved in what's she doing at the moment. This is her pure instincts, the one she uses when she's running with an amazingly fast pace.

The Doctor wants to pop out this insufferable balloon of silence. They consider telling an awful joke.

"Hush!"

Yasmin says it out of the blue, and before the Doctor could respond, they both see it.

The door with its shattered glass pane tainted with blood.

 

* * *

 

 

Tanya hears the front door creak open, but she doesn't move. Instead, she focuses on Matteusz's laboured breathing and presses on his wound with more pressure. Charlie's out waiting for his phone to reboot in order to make the emergency call.

She's never had to do this before. Never had to keep someone alive. All of the people that have died around her went off instantly or not within her reach.

Goddammit, and she's not even doing a decent job.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

Tanya doesn't shift. She doesn't hear Charlie responding.

"We found a man wielding a knife and... we knocked him out. I'm the Doctor!"

The door slams open and reveals a woman in a perwinkle coat and dyed blonde, chin-length hair.

"Oh no, Matteusz," they say. 

Matteusz's eyes lit up, he's about to speak, but he coughs out speckles of blood and gives up. Tanya pressures the wound, and he flinches more.

"His father, he bloody stabbed him," Tanya chokes out, shivering at the words spoken.

The Doctor places a palm where Tanya's hand is on the poorly clothed wound. "I can take care of him for a bit. Grab Charlie, I know he's upstairs, and I've got a friend who can help you out. She kind of, uh, twisted both of the father's wrists."

Tanya nods, releasing her hold of Matteusz. Then, she glances at her palms — now covered in blood.

She pushes the door to the living room, and she freezes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if the slang I used was right (like I just used 10 websites with lists of Yorkshire slang) so feel free to yell at me if something is wrong.


End file.
